<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Piano Babies by Mertens</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392088">Piano Babies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertens/pseuds/Mertens'>Mertens</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera &amp; Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, One Shot, piano babies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:33:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertens/pseuds/Mertens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine Daaé is haunted by a peculiar choice of decor in Erik’s home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christine Daaé &amp; Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Piano Babies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound of shattering porcelain never a welcome noise. The sound of three such noises in a row was even less welcome. </p>
<p>Shoulders tense, Erik looked into his music room to see what the cause was, but he already had a fairly good idea. </p>
<p>“Ayesha,” he scolded, frowning at her. “Bad girl! Bad!”</p>
<p>Ayesha blinked her big eyes at him from her forbidden perch on top of the piano, pretending nothing in the world was wrong. For her, nothing was. For the three porcelain figures of owls that were currently shattered on the ground, everything was wrong. </p>
<p>He huffed and put his hands on his hips. He <i>liked</i> those figures. They were ones he had made himself. Without them, there was nothing to hold the heavily embroidered silk shawl he had purchased on his trip to China in place on top of the piano. Already it was half sliding off of the thing, mostly because of how Ayesha was sitting on it. </p>
<p>“Get down!” he hissed</p>
<p>She jumped down, knocking the shawl to the ground as she did so. </p>
<p>“You’re a bad cat,” he told her, but she paid him no mind. </p>
<p>Instead, she walked confidently up to him, brushing her face against his ankle and arching her back before looking up at him and meowing. His shoulders slumped. He could never stay mad at her. </p>
<p>He sighed and picked her up, cradling her close to his chest. She began to purr. Well, maybe she wasn’t such a bad cat. </p>
<p>“Oh, Ayesha,” he shook his head ruefully. “What I am going to do with you?”</p>
<p>More importantly - what was going to do with his piano? </p>
<p>He pondered over this as he set Ayesha safely out of his way in a different room and then returned to sweep the dust and fragments into a dustpan. He supposed he could leave the piano bare, though it looked too bare for his taste. The shawl would fall off without anything to hold it in place. If it were just him, he would pile some books on it and be done with it - but Christine was coming over tomorrow. </p>
<p>His house had to be <i>perfect</i> for her. Not a single thing could be out of place, and that most definitely included not piling books on top his piano shawl like some kind of simpleton. It had to look <i>classy</i>! </p>
<p>It was with this in mind that he eventually crept upstairs and into the rooms were they stored the various props for the operas. He searched high and low for something fitting. Fortunately he found something, though he wasn’t exactly thrilled with them. </p>
<p>He forgot all about it by the time tomorrow came - there was simply room for nothing else in his mind except for his sweet Christine and her little smile as she trustingly followed him to his house. </p>
<p>He graciously ushered her into the little house, and she looked around as much as she could while still being polite. She’d never been to his house before, and she relished this chance to see into the private life of her maestro. </p>
<p>Everything was decorated richly and purposefully. She had the impression that each and every object was from some long ago adventure and had a detailed history. She longed to know each and every one, but didn’t want to appear overeager. There would be time enough in the future to discuss such things - right now they were going to have tea, and then she had a lesson. </p>
<p>He led her to a lovely drawing room and she settled herself in a large, plush chair with a high back. There was a warm fire in the fireplace, and she was surprised at how comfortable she felt in his home. She tried to read the titles of the books on his shelves while he was getting their tea from the kitchen, and just when she was about to stand to examine them closer, he suddenly reappeared. </p>
<p>He brought in a sliver tray upon which was a little bowl full of sugar and a plate of lemon slices. He sat down in the chair next to hers. </p>
<p>“Your home is so wonderful, Erik,” she said shyly. </p>
<p>“Thank you, my dear,” he smiled. </p>
<p>A hint of movement in the corner of the room caught her eye. </p>
<p>“Oh!” she leaned forward and almost upset her tea cup. “You have a kitty!”</p>
<p>“Ah, I do,” he spotted Ayesha hiding behind the legs of a corner table, and held a hand out to her, beckoning her close. “Ayesha, come here, darling.”</p>
<p>Christine shot a sidelong glance at him, unable to help the way her heart fluttered at how tenderly he addressed his cat, wishing she could be in the little animal’s place. </p>
<p>Ayesha stepped forward towards them, her blue gaze focused on Christine and her ears laid back against her head. She hissed at her, and Christine leaned back, surprised. </p>
<p>“Ayesha!” he scolded, terribly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Christine - she’s not used to new people, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>He stood and picked Ayesha up, shushing her as he carried her back to the chair. </p>
<p>Christine tried to push away her hurt feelings - it was silly of her, she knew, but she was very disappointed that Erik’s cat didn’t like her. The conversation turned to other things, but Ayesha stayed sitting on Erik’s lap, his hand idly petting her. </p>
<p>The cat purred loudly and licked at Erik’s bony hands every now and then, and Christine couldn’t help the absurd feeling that Ayesha was showing off. Erik belonged to her entirely, it seemed, and she was not keen on sharing him with Christine. </p>
<p>Their tea finished and their conversation nearly so, Erik announced that it was nearly time for her lesson. He set Ayesha down on the floor as he stood, and Ayesha turned to glare at Christine as though it were all Christine’s fault that Erik wasn’t petting her anymore. It rattled Christine a moment - she’d never seen such an expressive cat before, and the cunning little beast was almost unnerving when she turned her icy gaze to her. It only made sense, she supposed, that a man as intelligent as Erik would have a terribly intelligent cat. </p>
<p>But she was eager to see yet another room of her tutor’s, so she ignored the cat’s glare and followed him to the music room. </p>
<p>He sat in front of his piano and waved a hand towards her. </p>
<p>“Let’s start with your warm ups, as always,” he said. </p>
<p>She nodded and began her exercises, and as she did so she let her eyes wander over this room as well. It was strange, and exciting. His house seemed so positively <i>him</i> in every way that even when something surprised her, it really didn’t. It was like getting to look inside of his mind, and she loved it. </p>
<p>Until her eyes fell to something on top of the piano. </p>
<p>Three somethings, actually - three porcelain figures of babies. </p>
<p>This surprised her into faltering in her song. </p>
<p>Erik stopped playing the piano, his brow wrinkling under his mask. </p>
<p>“Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>Her eyes darted guiltily from the babies to his face, nodding quickly. </p>
<p>“I’m fine!” she squeaked. </p>
<p>He looked unconvinced, but began playing again. </p>
<p>She began singing again, too, but her attention was drawn back yet again the porcelain babies. </p>
<p>Why did he have them? She was not unfamiliar with the concept, of course - they were to keep the shawl from sliding down. But why babies? And why these babies? </p>
<p>She knew it was a terrible impoliteness to call any baby ugly, but these babies were really pushing it. There was simply no other word for them. They were overly sentimental, their little painted faces sickeningly saccharine, their poses bordering on the ridiculous. One sat in a slump as it gazed shyly up, its finger in its grinning mouth. Another lay on its back, or perhaps its side, forever frozen in a mockery of playing with its porcelain bootie covered feet. The last was made up to look like it was crawling across the top of the piano, and, Christine realized with horror, it’s bare bottom was showing. </p>
<p>She looked away. </p>
<p>Why did he have these? They felt so out of place in his carefully curated home. What was the story behind these? Had someone dear to him given them as a gift? Had he bought them himself because he thought them amusing? </p>
<p>Piano babies were common, she knew this. In any other home she wouldn’t think twice about it, just like how she wouldn’t have thought twice about finding almost any other object on his piano. A fossilized animal claw, or an intricate vase, a large seashell, a silver pocket watch, a gilded candelabra, the bust of some Roman god, a geode half, a bottle of sherry - all of these things she had seen inside his house and wouldn’t have blinked an eye at had they been on his piano. But no - it had to be porcelain babies. The most hideous porcelain babies she’d ever seen. </p>
<p>A pickled frog in a jar like the science museum had would have unsettled her less. </p>
<p>Throughout her lesson, she tried to avoid looking at - or thinning about - the horrible little babies, but they kept drawing her eye again and again, entirely against her will. They smiled at her with a suspicious amount of pastel colored joy. </p>
<p>Babies. Did Erik like babies? If his life had been different, would he have wanted to be a father, perhaps? She tried to focus on him alone, but the damn things kept mocking her with their existence. They made her think unwillingly of... possibilities. Like Erik’s baby. Like her having a baby. With Erik. </p>
<p>She squeezed fists around the fabric of her skirts, her heart speeding up. </p>
<p>“Christine,” he said at last. “You seem distracted, my dear.”</p>
<p>She blushed, feeling as though he could see her secret thoughts. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she looked down at her feet, unconsciously glancing at the babies yet again. “It’s just- it’s all a lot. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“It’s all right, Christine,” he said easily enough. “One more song?”</p>
<p>She nodded, and they continued. </p>
<p>It had not escaped his notice that she seemed fascinated by the piano babies. He couldn’t imagine why - they weren’t very much to look at. He thought them distasteful, but they were of a popular style, they got the job done, and no one would care when Ayesha inevitably knocked them to the ground. They were silly and simple, devoid of any real meaning, and far too feminine for his tastes. But perhaps she thought them charming. Who could understand the female mind? Not he. </p>
<p>They finished their lesson and he escorted upstairs again, and that was the first of many lessons they came to do in his home. Each time she’d eye the piano babies until finally she began to simply turn her back on them altogether, although Erik fussed about the acoustics of this. </p>
<p>To her delight, by the time Christmas rolled around, Ayesha was grudgingly allowing her to pet her, and Erik’s home was beginning to feel like a second home to her as well. The week before Christmas, she noticed with blessed relief that the babies were gone, and in their place were several smooth, polished river rocks. She wondered, briefly, where the babies had gone, but she didn’t trouble herself too much over it. </p>
<p>She didn’t have to wonder too long, anyway. </p>
<p>It was the day before Christmas Eve, and Raoul had stopped by to visit her and her Mamma Valerius. Their companionable chatter on the couch while Mamma was in the kitchen was interrupted by a knock at the front door. </p>
<p>Christine answered it, and was surprised to find a parcel being delivered. She brought it inside, and Raoul looked at it, curious. </p>
<p>“Who’s it from, Lotte?” he asked. </p>
<p>“It doesn’t say...”</p>
<p>She opened it, then found a little card inside, which she read and then blushed. </p>
<p>“Oh,” she said, unable to hide her smile. “It’s, ah, it’s from my teacher.”</p>
<p>She hadn’t told Raoul very much about him, and she intended to keep it that way. </p>
<p>“What did he send?” he tilted his head, looking at the box. </p>
<p>Christine glanced at the card one last time, her eyes taking in that spidery script that she loved so much, wondering what her strange angel had given her. </p>
<p>
  <i>Christine-</i><br/>I hope you’ll enjoy this little gift for you during this holiday season - I certainly caught you admiring them often enough! <br/>Thinking of you, Erik
</p>
<p>She bit her lip as she reached in and unwrapped the red tissue paper that was covering her gift. Out of the paper she pulled a porcelain baby - the very same that had haunted his piano top all these past months. </p>
<p>Her face fell, and she let the baby fall back into its tissue paper in the box. She flopped back on the couch and covered her face with her hands, groaning loud and long. Had he thought she had been staring at them all that time because she <i>liked</i> them?! </p>
<p>“What is it?” Raoul asked, confused. “What’d he give you?”</p>
<p>She didn’t answer, so he leaned forward and reached into the box, pulling something out. He held the item up to look at it, coming face to face with a bare porcelain butt. </p>
<p>“Oh,” he said flatly. “I see...”</p>
<p>She saw reason at last, and sprung up to bundle the offending box away before Mamma Valerius saw them and began cooing over how adorable they were and gave them a place of honor on the mantle. </p>
<p>“He’s- he’s elderly,” she told Raoul sheepishly, as though that were an explanation. “He thought that I would think they’re cute.”</p>
<p>Mamma came back in with a plate full of cookies for them all. </p>
<p>“Who was that at the door, dear?” she asked. </p>
<p>“No one! Just somebody asking for directions,” Christine said innocently. </p>
<p>Raoul followed her lead and didn’t mention the parcel. </p>
<p>It was later that night that Christine stowed the piano babies under her bed. They were hideous and sappy and slightly disturbing, but they were from her Erik, and even if she couldn’t cherish the actual object, she knew she would always cherish the intent behind them.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>